


last night I was a broken star; today I am the rising sun

by mrthology



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, alternate first meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21796021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrthology/pseuds/mrthology
Summary: Eowyn had met him several times before even thinking of asking his name, though she had by that point nearly poured her soul out to him, and he to her.  Some people just fit together it seemed.
Relationships: Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 63
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa 2019





	last night I was a broken star; today I am the rising sun

Eowyn woke with a start, heart feeling as though it were about to fly from her chest, breath caught in a scream or terror from the memories that her unconscious continually subjected her to. She could feel still smell the stench of his foul beast’s breath before she’d cleaved its head from its shoulders, could feel the oppressive gaze of the Witch King, who had looked at her as though she had been nothing more than an insect to be crushed under his boot. 

She could still feel her uncle’s broken form in her arms as he died, could still feel the helplessness, the grief, and the terror of that moment. It never truly left her, but at night the memories were impossible to ignore. During the day she was able to concentrate on healing, to converse with those around her. She had made friends among her fellow wounded, and with the various healers. The memories seemed far away, and less terrifying in the light of the sun.

At night she had no such buffer, no way to hide from her own mind. 

She slid out of the bed, ignoring the slight chill in the air. Everyone else in the Halls of Healer were sleeping, just as she should be. She knew not all of their dreams would be peaceful, not after everything that happened, and a small part of her longed for someone to wake so she could share her fears. But that part was small, and she left the room on silent feel after pausing to put her soft house boots on, and to wrap a shawl around her shoulders for decency’s sake. She doubted anyone would be awake at this hour save the guards, but it did not hurt to be cautious. 

She slid a knife into her boot, just in case. 

The halls were, as she hoped, silent and still. She passed several guards, though none gave her a second look. She supposed she should be grateful, but could not feel anything but the biting fangs of fear dogging her heals as she quickened her steps, desperate for the cool night air. 

She walked through an open door with a huge feeling of relief, allowing the cold night air, the sharp breeze, to help vanquish her fears. Even when Wormtongue had been at his worst, when her brother and cousin had been gone, when he uncle had started to fall under the White Wizard’s sway, the wind would calm her. It wasn’t the same here, the wind was warmer, and did not blow as fast as it did in the Riddermark, but still helped soother her turbulent emotions. 

She walked further onto the vast balcony, wanting nothing more than to fly away, away from all of this fear and death. Though most in the Halls of Healing were now stable, there were still those who died, those who were dying. It hurt to be around them and to not be able to help more. She did what she could, but she was still weak, and the healers would not let her help for long. Even Aragorn, who came in nearly daily to lend his aid, did not allow her out of bed long. 

She let her shaking hands come to rest on the parapet, eyes slipping closed. She just wanted to forget!

“Oh, I am sorry, I did not see you here.” 

She spun, heart beating painfully in her chest, only to see a tall man standing a metre away from her, dressed in simple leggings and a plain tunic. He’d not bothered with a robe or cloak, and Eowyn could tell he was shivering in the night air. He was a shade too slender, cheeks gaunt with the look of one recovering from a grave injury or illness, and through his tunic Eowyn could see the tell tale lump of bandages. 

Another escapee from the Halls then. 

She manages a small smile. “No, Sir,” she said, inclining her head slightly. “I have just arrived, and my steps were quiet.” She frowned, worried suddenly that she was the one intruding on his moment of solitude. “Am I disturbing you?” 

He shook his head, dark hair swaying slighting at the motion. It was rather jagged, as though bits had been hacked off. He regarded her through heavily lidded grey eyes, his gaze kind. “I imagine you came her for some measure of peace, Eowyn of Rohan,” he said instead of properly answering her query. 

She looked down, turning to look over the cursed fields again. Still she could see signs of the great battle. Scorched earth, areas where the grass was completely gone, places that looked soaked through with blood. She studiously did not look further, did not look to where she had killed the Witch King, to where her Uncle had died. 

The man likewise stepped up to the railing, though remained a distance away. “I have offender you,” he stated. 

She shook her head. “Everyone here knows my name,” she said rather than answering his question. 

He made a small sound, as though he were trying to stop himself from snorting. “You are, my lady, the only woman other than then healers in the Halls,” he pointed out. “Regardless of your great deeds, people would learn of you soon enough.” 

She smiled slightly, conceding his point. “You believe them to be great?” she asked, the bitterness in her voice surprised even herself. 

He did not answer for several long moments. “I believe,” he finally said, voice slow and soothing, “that your killing of the Witch King helped to win the day, and helped prevent further losses.”

“I had the help of a stout companion,” she whispered. “Without which I would have failed.” 

The tall man shrugged. “So you did. That does not negate your deeds, lady.” 

She turned to look at him finally, surprised at his nonchalance, his gentle demeanour… and at the quiet pain in his musical voice.

He smiled gently, though she noted his eyes still seemed far away, haunted by pain and grief she could not yet begin to guess at. It surprised her - the sudden longing to know more about this grey eyed stranger. 

“I am sorry, what was that,” she said when she realised he had spoken and she had not listened. 

“I asked if dreams wake you, or are you simply unable to sleep?”

“I…” she paused, unsure if she wanted to voice her fear to this stranger or not. She glanced at him, and saw no pity in his eyes, just shared sorrow and a sense of understanding. She forged ahead, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I dream I am too late. That I do not make it to my uncle until he has already died. That my brother died, or…” She trailed off, blushing slightly, though the cold wind disguised it. She did not know why she was pouring her heart out to this stranger, as kind as he seemed. 

He turned around so his back was leaning against the railing, and looked up at the vast Citadel. 

“What about you my lord?” she boldly asked, though she did not know if he was even a lord. It was more likely, given his state of dress, that he was a common man, one who’d been injured enough to be taken to the halls. “Do dreams wake you?” 

He shook his head again, still not looking at her. “No, I find myself unable to sleep. And so, I walk. I think. I talk to the guards and the people I meet. Some, like me, cannot find rest. Some are like you and find themselves awoken by dark dreams. And some, I have found, do not seem to sleep at all.” He smiled slightly, as though sharing a joke with himself. 

He looked at her then, grey eyes kind despite the sadness in them. “I lost my own brother before the battle even began, and shortly after many of my brothers at arms. My father, likewise, is lost to this world.” He smiled at her, though the expression was brittle. “I saw the Witch King in Battle,” he relayed. “I thank you for killing him, my lady, though I wish it did not cause you such torment.” 

She stared at him for a long moment, digesting his words. He did not change his expression, though she knew her scrutiny was bordering on rude. She did not think he was even blushing at her regard, though with his tanned skin it was hard to tell. “I am glad I can bring you some measure of peace,” she finally said diplomatically, “and am sorry for your great losses.” 

“I have lived in the shadow of Mordor my whole life,” he said softly, some of the despair in his eyes finally showing on his face. “I have seen much death and much destruction. But the light will shine on Gondor again.” 

He smiled suddenly and Eowyn was, despite herself, thrown by how handsome it made him look. 

“I shall leave you now, my lady, but thank you for talking to me. I find my heart feeling lighter now.” 

He bowed, low and formal, and swept away with a faint limp before she could even think to reply. 

**_###_ **

She did not see him the next night when she went back to the same balcony, and told herself she did not want to, that she would prefer to be alone. It also occurred to her that she’d never thought to ask for his name.

**_###_ **

“Did you go elsewhere last night, or did sleep find you at last?” 

The man looked at her with a tired smile. Not sleep then. “Elsewhere,” he said, confirming her suspicions. “I found myself thinking of my father.” 

Eowyn stood beside him, wondering again at his lack of coat when he was obviously chilled. “Here, take this,” she said, holding out her own cloak. It would be too short on him, but he looked as though he had lost too much weight in too little time. It would keep him warm enough. 

He raised an eyebrow, looking down at her with an amused expression. “Then you would be cold.”

“Rohan gets far colder than this,” she said, and tossed the dark cloth around him. He pulled it close, a somewhat sad expression on his face.

“Thank you,” he finally said, voice almost too soft to hear. 

She managed a small smile. “You are welcome.” 

They stood in silence for several long moments, looking up at the sky together. It was a beautiful, if chilly night, with not a cloud in the sky. 

“Do you think of your father again tonight?” She found herself asking, genuinely curious. “Or of the brother you mention?”

He closed his eyes, and a small and sad smile came to his thin lips, before falling away. “My brother,” he admitted. 

“You must miss his horribly,” she said, a touch guiltily. She did not know if she could survive losing her own beloved brother. 

He smiled again, looking faintly amused in spite of his obvious grief. “I do,” he said, “more than I thought possible.” 

“Was he the elder?” Eowyn asked, unsure if she should continue prompting him, but unable to stop herself from doing so. “Or were you?” 

“He was,” the man said. “By five years. And your brother? Is he your elder as well?”

“Four and a half years my elder,” she answered, “though he likes to claim it is five.” 

The man laughed slightly. “Older brothers are like that, in my experience,” he said, before slipping back into melancholy. 

“When did he die, your brother?” 

He didn’t look at her, and instead looked out onto the dark fields. “Nearly a month ago now,” he said. “On the 26th of March.” 

“I am sorry,” she said, hearth catching in her chest at the thought of something happening to Eomer. It had been almost more than she could bear when Theodred had died. She did not know if she would survive something happening to her brother, her one constant. 

He smiled slightly but did not reply. They both knew there was nothing that could be said to take away the pain of losing a loved one. They stood in silence for some time more, before Eowyn found herself beginning to tire, and walked silently back to her bed, folding her returned cloak over her arm. 

It was only when she was lying down to sleep that she realised she’d forgotten again to ask his name.

**_###_ **

She thought she saw him slipping into one of the private rooms in the ward with Aragorn several days later, but could not be sure. Her brother came to see her shortly after, bringing Pippin with him, and she was quickly distracted. The next time she thought to look, the door was closed.

**_###_ **

“We have to stop meeting like this,” came the calm yet amused voice. “People will talk.” 

She smiled, not surprised to find it genuine. “Most people are asleep.” 

“True enough.”

She walked over to lean against the balcony railing, bumping her arm against his companionably. He didn’t look at her, but she could see the start of a smile tugging on his lips. 

“You look disturbed tonight, dreams?” She thought it looked as though he’d finally slept, but from the pensive cast to his features she did not think it had been restful. 

He nodded. “I find my dreams are rather dark of late,” he admitted, hands clenching tightly over the rails. She looked at them, wondering if he would welcome her touch. 

“What do you dream of?” she asked, daring to take one of his hands in hers, helping him to unclench his fist. “You have heard my dreams, let me help with yours.” 

He was silent for such a long time Eowyn was sure she had over stepped herself, but finally he answered, speaking nearly silently. 

“I dream I am being burned alive,” he said. “And cannot save myself.”

Her breath caught in her throat. What could she say to that? 

“I wake up gasping, feeling like I am suffocating.” 

“I am sorry,” she whispered. “That sounds terrible.” 

He smiled slightly, holding her hand in a grip so tight it nearly hurt. Eowyn did not care. She just wanted to bring him some measure of comfort. 

“All of us face darkness in our dreams,” he said philosophically. “Especially as of late.” 

She huffed a small laugh. “That is very true. You have a talent for understating things!” 

“I will take that as a compliment! It is better than being overdramatic, I suppose.” 

“Life is more fun with some drama,” she retorted, enjoying their conversation far too much for the hour. 

“That,” he said, tilting his head to look down his strong nose at her, “depends on the type of drama.” 

She smiled more freely. “Also true.” Her smile faded. “I would certainly like some peace and quiet now.” 

He nodded in agreement. “I as well,” he whispered. “I would like to have time with my books, with my friends both new and old, and to rebuild.” 

She squeezed his hand, before releasing it to cover her mouth as she yawned. She still had nightmares - she doubted they would ever completely stop - but they had been less strong the last several nights. 

I have kept you far too late,” he said, stepping away and bowing slightly. “I should try and sleep as well,” he continued as an afterthought. “Or I will not be able to function during the day!”

**_###_ **

The next she slept without nightmares, waking at dawn feeling well rested and more at peace then she could remember, and hoped her friend had likewise been able to find some peace for himself. 

**_###_ **

**25th March - The Morning of The Battle of Morannon**

Eowyn finally dared to go out onto the balcony, half hoping she would still be able to see the departing army, and half hoping to see no sign of them. She had said her goodbyes to Eomer already. She did not know if she could bear seeing him again unless he was hale and whole, and back from the Black Gates. 

“I am sorry.” 

She didn’t bother turning, knowing it would be her friend. “I know,” she answered, knowing that it was true. He had, after all, lost a brother he had loved dearly. He would know all too well the fear in her heart. 

“He will come back.” 

She barked out a laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. “How do you know?” she demanded, spinning on the spot to glare at the man. 

He did not react at all, a feat in and of itself. “I just do,” he answered simply. “I know you will not like that answer, but it is the truth. Eomer will survive this last battle and return to you, Eowyn of Rohan.” 

She stared at him for a long moment, taking in his kind and handsome features, before she began to sob, hugging herself desperately. 

Arms came around her suddenly, and she leaned into a warm chest, fisting her hands in the surprisingly luxurious fabric of the man’s simple tunic. He said nothing, simply held her in his arms and swayed gently, humming a song she thought she’d heard before under his breath. She listened to the tune, using it as something to concentrate on as she desperately tried to calm herself. She’d done enough crying as of late, and had no desire to do more. 

“That song… I recognise it…” 

She could feel him laugh slightly. “Aye, you would,” he said. “Legolas has sung it several times, and I know Aragorn knows it as well. It is called the _Noldolantë_ , - though I believe when Legolas sings it it takes on a more sarcastic tone, based on his familial history…” he trailed off. “And I think he and his people usually sing it as a drinking game.”

Eowyn took a step back, regarding her new friends with new eyes. “You are not the simple man I thought you to be,” she said, almost accusing him, though the fault was her own. 

He blinked, looking bemused. “No…” he said in a confused tone, before huffing out a small laugh. “I never did introduce myself properly, did I?” he asked, looking rueful. 

She gave him a look, though could not completely stop herself from smiling. “You knew who I was, and our conversation was steered away from names fairly soon after,” she pointed out. She felt lighter then she had since the start of the war, despite knowing that Eomer was marching to what could be his death. For some reason she believed her friend when he said Eomer would be alright. 

He nodded regally to her, before bowing. It was a formal, courtiers bow, though not as deep as she would expect given her own high position. This man must indeed be someone important. And she’d been treating him as nothing more than a soldier!

“I am Faramir, son of Denethor, Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien and Captain of the White Tower, as well as the new Steward of Gondor.” He smiled gently at her, likely amused by her stunned expression. “I thought you knew me, my lady, though it appears not.”  
  


“Indeed no,” she said, feeling flustered. Here before her was one of the most important figures in the realms of men, and she had not thought to ask for his name! “I apologise,” she said somewhat awkwardly, wondering if she could curtsey. Something told her the answer was no. 

“There is no need to apologise,” Faramir said, amusement in his kind grey eyes, for once overshadowing the grief. “I did not introduce myself, so it is I who should be seeking your apology.”

“And I did not even ask for your name my lord, so the fault is also mine.” 

He made a face. “Please, call me Faramir. I have no wish to stand on ceremony with you.”

She smiled. “Then I must be Eowyn,” she said. 

He smiled back, coming to stand beside her at the railing. The departing army was out of sight now, and it was a beautiful morning despite everything. A morning for new beginnings. She smiled to herself, stepping closer to the railing, and into Faramir’s personal space. He said nothing, just offered her her hand with a small smile. 

She took it gladly. 

**_###_ **

The next night there were no nightmares, but she and Faramir still met on their balcony, greeting a new age together. 

**Author's Note:**

> Slighter AU in that they met differently, but such is the point of fanfiction. Also, canon appearance for Farmair instead of the film version (as much as I love the movies). And I may have gone over the recommended word limit for this. Oops.


End file.
